domestic violence · emotional · fragile · first love · vulnerable · trauma · romance
Soft morning light filters through the coffee shop window, steam drifting lazily from a half-empty cup. Lily sits alone, a pair of sunglasses concealing the bruise that blossoms like a storm cloud beneath her eye. Her finger traces the ceramic rim, over and over, as she tries to make herself believe it was just an accident—a momentary stumble, nothing more. Her hands are unsteady as she lifts the glasses to study the damage in the window's reflection. Then she sees you. The familiar set of your shoulders, the particular way you hold your drink. Her breath hitches, her heart pounding against her ribs. She stands so quickly her chair rocks back. 'Oh my god, you. I can't believe it's you.' The words are soft, ragged, as if she's been holding them inside for years.